


Song of Nero

by Namesonboats (Viken2592)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, nerokiri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-14 11:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viken2592/pseuds/Namesonboats
Summary: After the fall of the Order of the Sword, Nero and Kyrie move into their new house to start the orphanage. Kyrie finds their arrangement too modest to her liking.The fic takes place a few months after the happenings of DMC4.





	1. Chapter 1

Let my beloved come into his garden  
and taste its choicest fruits.  
\- Song of Solomon 4: 16

I will give my gifts to you  
Grow your garden, watch it bloom.  
\- Out of Darkness, performed by Kyrie in Devil May Cry 4

_Fortuna, present day_

Kyrie gasps as Nero removes his hands from her eyes. The house he has found to start a new branch of the orphanage appears before her, large and unbroken. Its brick-walled exterior is free from cracks and holes as if, in this area, the catastrophe of the months before never happened. It's a sanctum in the midst of chaos.

“It’s perfect!”

Nero skips up the small stairs to open the door.

“It’s even better inside. Come!”

Grinning, she joins him. She lifts her hands to her face, warming from joy at the naked, clean interior of the first floor. Beyond the hall lies a grand living room with lots of space for toys and play, and beyond that a lounge for movie nights. Two bedrooms, painted green and blue, lay on either side of a corridor to the west, large enough to contain eight beds each. That’s how many children they plan to have in the orphanage, but until they’ve found furniture, more staff, and more funding, they have settled for three boys to start with.

When Nero shows her the kitchen, Kyrie’s ready to cry.

It’s spacious, filled with new appliances and shining tools. No more cooking over open fires or in battered gas stoves. They can give the children well-cooked meals, serve them ice cream on Saturdays like her mother used to…

“I have one last surprise for you. Come.”

Nero takes her hand and coaxes her towards the stairs to the second floor. The wood groans beneath their feet as they climb the steps. His hand is warm, calloused palm pressing into hers. Reaching a corridor with a flower-patterned wallpaper, he grasps the handle of a door directly to their left.

“Ready?”

Breathless, she nods. Her heart pounds in her chest.

He opens the door, pushing it inwards and takes a step back to let her in.

Her smile dies.

It’s a bedroom. The walls are painted cloudy white and the floorboards polished to gleam in the faint light that spills from the single window. Her enframed poster depicting Eva, praying with feathery wings on her back, hangs on the adjacent wall.

Kyries heart sinks at the sight of the narrow frame of the bed - her bed - under the poster, covered in her blue patchwork bedspread.

“I tried to make it like your old room,” Nero says with a smile, “I hit jackpot when Nico and I found the wardrobe at a thrift shop. You used to have one just like it, right?”

She blinks at the sight of the piece of furniture by the bed, splendid in its oak frame. He’s gone through such lengths to make everything right for her. A heavy stone settles in her stomach.

A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows.

“Is something wrong? The curtains aren’t exactly like the ones you had, I know, but -”

“No,” she whispers to hide the tremor in her voice, “it’s - it’s amazing.”

He regains his proud smile.

She steps in, caressing the bedspread absentmindedly, and sits. She must hide her disappointment, it wasn’t right when he’s made such an effort to please her...

When Nero told her he’d found a house where they could move in with the orphans, Kyrie’s heart opened to the prospect with all her want. Not only to run the orphanage but to live with Nero, as his. To be his, wholly, and take the next step in their lives and their relationship. They were young, but they weren’t children anymore. The fall of the Order closed that chapter of her life for good, and she was ready to turn the page. To lead a new life with Nero.

She had taken for granted that they would share a bedroom. She considered them married in heart and soul but this room proved her wrong.

_Oh, Nero…_

“My room’s further down the corridor.” He scratches his nose with a blush. “Isn’t it great? Tomorrow, we’ll call Nico and drive to all the thrift shops in Fortuna and Red Grave and find everything we need for the kids! There were so many cool toys at the place Nico and I found -”

She smiles at his tirade, hands clasped in her lap. It _was_ great. In fact, everything about this was perfect. It wasn’t fair of her heart to ache the way it did.

*

That night, Kyrie turns in her bed, her hand tucked under her cheek on the pillow. Casting the duvet off her body, she sits, letting the soles of her feet hit the floor. Her heart pounds hard enough to shake her ribs, but she’s made a decision. Hand on her chest, she rises to open her door and sneaks out into the corridor.

She steps the floorboards illuminated by the soft moonlight, carefully not to make them creak under her naked feet. Reaching his door, she takes a moment to breathe in and out of her nostrils, before she knocks.

“Kyrie?”

The absence of thickness to his voice tells her he’s been unable to sleep, too. She grasps the handle and opens the door. Stepping in, she closes it behind her.

“Is something wrong?”

She lifts her gaze from the floor, fingers grasping the hem of her cotton nightdress. The sight before her has her lips fall apart and a bright rush of affection to soar in her chest.

Nero’s raised his body onto his elbows. A grey light spills from his window and lands on his bare torso, free from the cover that reaches to his hips. He shifts on one arm and pulls his hand through the short tresses of his hair, a habit he has since he still wore it long. The skin on his arm ripples in a cyan pattern.

He is beautiful.

“Nothing’s wrong. I -” She takes a deep breath. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

The falling moonlight illuminates his face to reveal his blush and the widening of his eyes.

“In my bed?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

She lets out a faint laugh, a mere breath through her mouth.

“Yes, Nero, with you.”

Bright determination fills her; it was right to come to his room like it’s right to be with him. A thrill of anticipation radiates from her heart and spreads to her arms and down her thighs, settling in a little dance between her legs.

His reply has her stomach sinking.

“Kyrie - I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her cheeks burn. She hadn’t anticipated that he would reject her. A rush of embarrassment has the hair on her arms stand on end.

“Oh.”

She shifts on her feet, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Look,” he says, “it’s just that this bed is kind of small. I don’t think I’d be able to - not touch you if we were to sleep in it together.”

She lifts her gaze to his in surprise. Not touch her? Is that what he thought she meant?

“I want you to touch me,” she whispers, anticipation returning in a thrill.

He stares at her in incredulity.

“You do?” He croaks and clears his throat.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” He shifts, blushing harder. “I guess I could… hold you. If that’s ok?”

“I want more than being held.”

A rush zings through her at her boldness.

He, in turn, gains the colour of a ripe tomato.

“Do you mean..?”

She nods, smiling.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

A knot forms in her stomach. Why did he hesitate? Had she misinterpreted this so badly?

“Nero, are you not - don’t you want this?”


	2. Chapter 2

_Fifteen years before_

Kyrie holds on to Credo’s hand so hard the flesh of his palm whitens. She keeps her gaze to the floor, observing each of her button boots appearing underneath the hem of her cotton crepe dress. The stone floors are grey and patterned in a haphazard way that adds to her anxiety.

“Here’s your room, Kiri. I’ll wait for you when your class ends, ok?”

Her brother squeezes her hand before he lets go to leave for the older children’s classroom. She stares at his back with a desperate wish to call him back and ask him to take them home.

They have no home, not anymore.

The matron presents her to the other children of her age group, telling them she’s going to be their new friend. _Don’t tell them_, Kyrie begs silently, _don’t tell them mom and dad were killed by demons_. The matron doesn’t. She designates Kyrie to sit beside a boy with curious, grey hair. He leans on his chair and stares into the table with a muttered "hi”.

Kyrie returns the greeting. She pulls her notebook and her pencil from her bag to follow the instructions of the matron to practise the alphabet.

The boy beside her doesn’t practise. He flips his pencil over his knuckles in a mesmerizing pattern.

_Flip, flip, flip_.

Kyrie jumps when the tip of her pencil brake against the paper. Panicked, she darts her gaze around. Is there a pencil sharpener somewhere? The shelves contain books, paper art by the children, rolled-up maps, and containers of staplers and tape, but no pencil sharpeners.

Hot tears burn behind her eyelids. She lets her gaze sink to the notebook before her where her second ‘A’ is blotted from the broken pencil tip.

At the end of the class, their matron approaches.

“Kyrie, why haven’t you practised as I told you to? Perhaps I made a mistake sitting you next to Nero… Nero, please try to make an effort? Dismissed.”

The boy named Nero rolls his eyes and runs outside, leaving Kyrie swallowing the thick tears in her throat. The matron pushes Kyrie out with a firm hand to her shoulder.

When the woman rounds the corner of the corridor, Kyrie opens the door to the classroom and tiptoes her way back in. She sits under the table closest to the adjacent wall and hugs her legs in a tight embrace.

Kyrie lets her mind drift to a safe place, a meadow she visited with her mother only a year ago. The sun warmed their backs and the nightingale serenaded their path. A tiny ladybug crept up Kyries finger and her mother sang her a song of a friendship between a bumblebee and a honey bee.

_I’ll always be here for you_, she said. Kyrie believed her like she believed the sun would rise each morning and the stars would continue to shine each night.

She stiffens at the sound of the door opening. Was recess over so soon? She holds her breath.

It’s that boy Nero. He strides carefully to their table and places something on its surface. Her ears prick at a faint clicking sound.

When he’s left the room, she rises to approach the table.

On top of her notebook lay five pencils, sharpened to perfection.

_Twelve years before_

Kyrie takes a sip of her tomato soup, smiling at her classmate rambling about their recent song lesson. The other children at the Order are nice to her, especially the girls. Since that first gesture of kindness from Nero, Kyrie dared to trust that the people of the Order wanted good things for her. She dared to open up to friendships with her peers.

A commotion further into the great hall has everyone fall silent and snap their gazes up. The sounds of angry shouts and broken crockery crashing to the floor fill the room and have everyone gawking.

“Screw you! I won’t eat it!”

Kyrie places a hand over her mouth at Nero’s profane exclamation. The matron calls for Credo, newly-appointed head boy, and frogmarches a hissing Nero into the kitchens.

Scattered titters break the silence.

“Why is he always like that?” A girl whispers on the opposite side of Kyrie.

“Maybe because he’s the son of a whore!”

More titters behind small hands.

Kyrie frowns. She rises to her feet and steps towards the kitchens, ignoring the surprised call from her friends.

“- Tired of this!”

The angered voice of the matron rumbles through the swing doors as Kyrie steps in. Her heart pounds in her throat, but she doesn’t hesitate.

“Perhaps it would be best for us all if he goes to a youth penitentiary instead of being a stone in the boot of the Order? Always up to some mischief, always these tantrums! I’ve had enough!”

“Mrs Warren, please,” echoes Credo’s voice. “I’m sure he’s - Kyrie?”

Kyrie steps in and walks straight to Nero who’s sulking in a corner, hands deep in his pockets. He observes her with wide eyes and flinches when she lifts her hands to his face to inspects him.

“Mrs Warren,” she says, voice trembling, “are you aware of these rashes on Nero’s face?”

The matron and Credo stare in astounded silence at the boy who yanks his head from Kyrie’s hands. His blush can’t hide the brick-coloured breakout on the sides of his mouth and on his chin.

“Perhaps you’ve noticed,” Kyrie continues, “that his so-called ‘tantrums’ always occur on Mondays? What are we always served on Mondays, Mrs Warren?”

“Tomato soup,” Credo mumbles.

“That’s right,” Kyrie confirms. Her face heats from agitation. “Nero is allergic to tomatoes. Yet you keep insisting he eats them. Why haven’t you noticed this before, Mrs Warren? Are you not his guardian?”

Kyrie has clenched her hands to fists at her sides. She’s so angry she’s shaking.

“Why is it so easy for you to judge his actions rather than understand his needs? Have you no compassion? He’s a child.”

A tear slides down her cheek. Kyrie often cried when she was upset and she hated it. It turned her voice whiny and her breath into a stutter but she has no plans on stopping, not if the Matron continues to scald her friend.

Silent and still like a statue, Nero stares at her face.

“Mrs Warren,” Credo, no more than a boy himself, addresses the matron standing with her eyes quivering and her lips pursed to a thin line. “It looks like my sister is right. Perhaps we judged Nero too harshly. We should consider an alternative diet -”

“I’m so sorry, Nero!” The matron bursts out in tears. “The girl is right! You are just a child and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Saviour forgive me, I’ve been so stressed lately…”

Eyes wide in shock, Nero darts his gaze to each of the people in the kitchen and dashes out the doors.

*

Later that evening, Nero catches Kyrie as she is about to go the girl’s dormitories to retire for the night.

“Why did you do that?” He mumbles, his jaw set tight.

“Because it wasn’t right. You -”

He sends her such a naked gaze she swallows her words.

“Why did you do it?”

She’s unable to raise her voice beyond a whisper.

“Because I don’t want to lose you. You’re my friend.”

_Seven years before_

Kyrie peeks out from behind the cupboard in the kitchen. She has lunch duty and prepares vegetables for a soup when a faint bang from the other side of the room catches her attention.

“Nero?”

His attempt to sneak out of the backdoor fails miserably. He lowers his tensed shoulders and turns his reddened face to her.

“Hi, Kyrie.”

“What are you doing here?”

She widens her eyes at how he holds his hand underneath his jacket.

He deflates and opens his jacket to fish out a string of sausages.

“Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“Nero, if you’re hungry -”

“It’s not for me.”

He sends her such a pleading gaze her heartstrings tighten.

“It’s for Dutch. He’s a dog. My dog.”

She gapes as he starts a tirade of the stray dog that followed him when, escaping boring lessons of the Holy Script, was roaming the city. He ignored the mutt at first but soon couldn’t walk anywhere without looking over his shoulder, hoping to meet the dog again. He’s been feeding it with stolen food scraps for a week.

“Nero, the Order forbids pets…”

“I know. It’s just - he’s cool, alright? He’s my friend.”

She smiles.

“Alright. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

The smile he sends her is so radiant it makes her breath hitch.

*

The next day, she waits for him outside the kitchen and tugs his jacket, index finger raised to her lips.

“Here. It’s for Dutch.”

She hands him leftover meatballs from the day’s supper in a plastic bag. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Wow, thanks Kyrie!”

Nero hugs her. It fills her with a soft warmth.

“Nero…”

He turns to meet her gaze, ready to leave with the food scraps.

“Why did you name your dog Dutch?”

He grins.

“Because when I found him, he was so scruffy I thought, ‘boy, you look like you’re in Dutch!”

*

A week later, Kyrie’s doing the dishes, about to clean up and head back to the dormitories when a sound catches her attention. Curious, she wipes her hands at her apron and opens the back door, peeking outside.

She gasps. Nero’s approaching, tears streaking his face, with a short-haired, blonde dog in his arms. The tongue of the dog hangs from its mouth and its insides spill from a nasty wound to its side. It takes but a look for Kyrie to know it’s dead.

“The demons - they killed him.”

Nero’s voice quiver, thick from tears.

Kyrie stares at her friend with a sensation of her body going numb. Besides her and her brother, Nero had no friends. The other children teased him for being the son of a prostitute because he was found on the Order’s steps, his parents unknown. That dog was more to him than a simple pet.

She shakes out of her thoughts.

“Wait here.”

She dashes back in and to the corridor, up the stairs to the Knight’s offices. Her brother darts a surprised gaze to her from his bed where he’s reading the Holy Scripture.

“Kiri?”

“Credo. It’s Nero. We need your help.”

*

Together, they place the remains of Dutch in a cardboard box and venture into the Mitis forest by the southern part of the fortress. Credo carries a shovel and a toolbox, Kyrie a lit lantern, and Nero the box, so strangely small in his hands. They crunch the leaves of the ground in silence, observed by the stars above and guided by the soft moonlight. The swords on the boy’s backs catch occasional rays of light that send dull prisms on the forest floor.

They reach a glen and stop at a large oak tree. Scattered fireflies float around the trunk like tiny stars.

Nero digs a grave while Credo uses a hammer and nails to make a crude symbol of the Saviour to place at the final resting place of Dutch. Kyrie picks the flowers she can find and winds them into a wreath that she places on top of the mound of dirt that hides the little dog.

She sings for Nero’s friend while the winds join in the chorus through ruffling the leaves above.

_Es Animali iste a Deo factus est, inaestimabile sacramentum; irreprehensibilis est._  
_Deus, cui adstat chorus Angelorum, exaudi preces servorum tuorum._

_This animal is God’s work, an invaluable mystery; it is immaculate. God, who stands in front of the choir of angels, hear thy servants prayers._

Credo places a hand on Nero’s shoulder. Nero is shaking with sobs.

“It was my fault,” he says and sniffles, “I let Dutch believe it was ok to follow me around and when the demons attacked he placed himself between me and them.”

Credo squeezes his shoulder.

“He was loyal to you as you were loyal to him. He died protecting someone he loved and trusted. Isn’t that the most honourable of deaths?”

Nero stares at Credo, eyes glittering with tears. He stiffens at a crunching sound behind them and flicks his gaze over his shoulder.

On an instant, both boys grab their swords and backs to shield Kyrie with their bodies.

“What was that?”

Kyrie has a sensation of her insides turning to liquid. Her heart hammers in her chest.

“Kyrie, stay behind us!”

Nero shouts the command before he rushes forward, sword held above his head. Credo snaps his gaze to their side. Two demons approach, their limbs protruding from their bodies in a curious, star-shaped pattern. The light from Kyries lantern illuminates their grinning faces; eyes large and red and teeth like razor blades.

Kyrie screams.

Nero slashes at the demon, visible only through the sparks that erupt from his sword as he hits the demon’s claws. He pushes the monster outside the lit circle of the lantern.

Credo attacks the other demon in turn, leaving Kyrie backing towards the tree trunk. She keeps her hands against her chest, her skin crawling from fear. At a stinging to her shoulder, she freezes.

Behind her stands a demon, observing her with a tilted head as if she were a curious flower. The stench of its wheezing breath stops her heart in her chest. The demon grins with fangs dripping with saliva, emitting a triumphant hiss. It clenches its clawed hand on her shoulder and cut into her dress, into her flesh. Her knees give in under her. She whimpers at the sensation of warm blood flowing down her arm.

“Kyrie!”

In a flurry of grey, blue and red, Nero crashes into the demon and fells it to the ground with a roar. He ends up beneath the scaly body, groaning in the effort to get up. Snickering, the demon pins his right arm to the ground in a sickening crack of ripped tendons and cracked bones. Nero groans, dropping his sword with a thud to the ground.

The fear hits Kyrie like a lance of ice through her heart. She opens her mouth to scream a protest when Nero lifts a gun from his side and blasts three consecutive bangs into the skull of the demon. It staggers back, roaring. The ground shakes from the impact when it falls.

Nero raises to his feet and rushes to Kyrie. He kneels beside her and cradles her cheek in his hand, pressing his injured arm against his chest. A bloodied patch blooms on his shirt.

“Kyrie! Are you ok? I’ll never forgive myself if you…”

Credo returns, shouting his sister’s name and bleeding from a gash to his forehead. He pushes Nero from Kyrie and holds her in his arms.

“Don’t worry, Kiri, the demons are gone. We’ll get you back to the fortress and take you to the infirmary.”

He raises a pointed eye cast to Nero and the gun at his belt.

“Where did you get that? The Order forbids the use of firearms!”

“Thanks to that firearm, your sister’s still alive!”

Credo blanches. His arms tremble.

“We’ll talk about this later. You also need medical attention. Let’s go.”

_Four years ago_

Kyrie’s fairly certain Nero has a crush on her. She finds it cute. The masses never interested him but during her concerts, he sits in the first row with a light in his eyes like he’s looking at an angel.

Like that first day they met in the classroom, he does little things for her. He makes sure there’s always a pail full of fresh water when it’s her turn to do the dishes. He places a bouquet of wildflowers in a vase beside her bed. He carries her books during library service, despite the fact that her injury healed before his, as he is still wearing a bandage around his right arm. He won’t let her change the gauze strips or clean his wound, adamant he can do it himself. She aches at the suspicion that he’s ashamed over what happened and blames himself for her getting hurt. _I was the one who insisted we have a funeral for your dog_, she wishes to tell him, but he won’t let her in enough to speak to him.

Outside the citadel, construction scaffolds rise to the sky in the beginnings of the enormous statue of the Savior. For reasons she can’t pinpoint, a chill always runs down Kyrie’s spine at the sight of it. She is likewise uneasy at the sight of the first Alchemist, Agnus. His hysterical cackles and sibilant whispers in the ears of the Vicar frightens her. Kyrie was pious, but the fanaticism of some of the Order’s members has her stomach tie up in knots.

One day, Kyrie carries a handful of newly washed linen to the grand hall when she catches a prism of light from the corridor to the Alchemist’s labs. She normally ignores the burbled sounds of liquid and clinks of metal against metal that emanates from the labs but something about this light awakens her curiosity.

Kyrie gasps. Was that a - cry from an animal inside?

She takes a few, tentative steps towards the heavy ports, open in a slight crack. Heart pounding, she walks closer to that opening, extends a trembling hand to brush the heavy oak…

“Kyrie, don’t!”

She jumps. It’s Nero, grasping her arm and whispering his warning in a low hiss. He’s using his injured hand to hold her and her skin registers the feeling of something odd at his touch, dry, warm, but also -

He releases her and blushes.

“You know we’re not supposed to go in there. It’s forbidden -”

“Hey there! What are you two doing?”

An older member of the Holy Knights approaches with a scowl on his face. He lets his gaze wander from boy to girl in angered stupefaction.

“I certainly didn’t think this of you - of all people, Kyrie -”

“It’s not her fault. I took her here.”

The Holy Knight narrows his eyes at Nero.

“Why, may I ask?” He huffs. “Did you think you could convince her to give you a kiss? Well, let me tell you, boy, you’ll never be good enough for her. The Supreme General will hear of this and then you’ll be in trouble, you got that?”

Kyrie flushes so hard the tips her ears burn. Nero nods, trembling from anger but he accepts to be pushed out of the corridor by the knight. He sends Kyrie a shake to the head, a signal he doesn’t want her to protest.

Breathless, she stumbles out behind the boy and the man but doesn’t find the courage to speak.

*

Kyrie opens the door to the pantry and raises her index finger to her lips. Nero meets her gaze with eyes open in surprise. He’s holding a potato in his injured hand and a peeler in his other. Before him on the floor stands a pail of water and a box full of earth-covered potatoes.

“What are you doing here?”

She closes the door, grabs a jute sack that she spreads on the floor beside him and sits on her knees.

“I told the matron I wasn’t feeling well and asked to skip Vespers. I can’t let you take the punishment alone when this is my fault.”

He closes his mouth and observes her grabbing a potato from the box.

“What were you doing by the labs, anyway?”

She cleans the potato in the water and grabs a peeler from the shelf beside her.

“I thought I heard a sound. There was this strange light coming from the open door… I was curious.”

She stops the peeling motion and meets his gaze.

“That place - it scares me. I don’t know why but I have this feeling something bad is happening in there.”

Nero smiles but she can tell it takes him an effort. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

“Don’t worry, Kiri. I’m sure nothing shady is happening in the labs. Agnus never does anything that the Vicar hasn’t sanctioned and you trust him, right?”

The way he uses her nickname sends a warm current through her stomach. She relaxes and sends him a smile.

“I do. You’re right.”

She observes his familiar features, basking in that pleasant feeling.

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

“It’s ok.”

They mirror each other’s smiles.

An hour passes where they chat and peel potatoes, enclosed in a balmy communion that has her heart settle like a content animal in her chest. He makes her laugh with an impression of the Grand Alchemist that is just this side of ridicule. Still chuckling, she reaches for a potato the same moment as him and finds her hand enclosed in his. He releases her as if the touch burns him.

“Look, you’d better get back before they find out you’re here and get me in more trouble.”

Heart strangely aching, she rises to her feet.

“Ok. Bye, Nero.”

She opens the door but stops at his voice.

“I did want it.”

“What?” She whispers, holding her breath.

“To kiss you. One day, I hope you’ll let me. When I’m worthy of you.”

_Two years ago_

Kyrie returns to Fortuna after a two months summer camp in the Order’s branch in Red Grave. All summer, she has paddled canoe, slept in a tent, and sung holy verses with the children from the Order. The bridge of her nose is dotted with freckles and her legs are tanned and full of mosquito bites. It was her first summer as a camp leader and she loved it.

Admittingly, she spent much time thinking of Nero. He wasn’t with her and the children as the Holy Knights spent the summer back in Fortuna, training and meditating to gain strength and vigour. She shouldn’t have this faint tinge of embarrassment from missing him so much - he was her best friend, after all.

Credo meets her with a warm hug. She scrunches her nose in teasing at the sweaty embrace. The summer’s heat lingered in early September and teased the hem of her dress in warm gusts of wind. Gulls cry in blue skies overhead and a fair scent of everblooming roses fill the air. The looming shadow of the great Saviour, whose form sends a shiver down her spine, falls over the cupola of the temple.

“Sorry, Kiri,” Credo says with a grin, “the knights and I are helping the brotherhood build a new annexe to the lab. It’s hard work.”

A small knot forms in her gut at the mention of the lab. A strange atmosphere reigned over the Order these days that she struggled to pinpoint. There was a tension to the hushed whispers between members and in the way the Holy Knights trained night and day as if preparing for war. The increased attacks from demons have everyone on their toes.

“Can I help?”

“No, we’re doing fine.” Credo gestures towards the construction of a new wall, “go and take care of the kids, we’ll see you at supper.”

Kyrie smiles but halts at the sight of a shirtless knight with a bandage around his arm. For a brief moment, she’s unsure of who he is, the young, handsome man with glistening skin over muscles that ripple as he lifts a sack of concrete powder to a pallor. He notices her gaze and meets it, wiping his grey hair back with his hand...

She gasps. It’s Nero, and he’s no longer a boy.

Kyrie, who’s never uttered a curse word in her life, can’t stop the profanity that bursts forward in her mind.

_Holy shit._

_One year ago_

Kyrie opens the door to the Order’s quarter’s, pulling a shawl tight around her shoulders. She steadies the lit candle in her hand.

“Hi. Thank you for coming.”

The night outside is cold with grey skies overhead. The light drizzle that has fallen since lunchtime clings to Nero’s padded jacket and lingers in droplets from his grey tresses.

“Of course. Is he in his room?”

Kyrie nods and lets Nero in. He doesn’t bother to take his jacket off but heads straight for the dormitories with Kyrie on his heels. The light from her candle flicker on the walls.

They reach the third door to their right in the corridor; Nero carefully knocks before he steps in.

Inside sits a boy, eight years old, with streaks of tears down his pale cheeks and his dark hair ruffled on his head. He rips from his bed to fling his arms around Nero who kneels to embrace him.

“I had a nightmare, Nero. You died. You fell into a marble head and didn’t come back.”

“It was only a dream, Julio. Don’t worry. I’m ok.”

Kyries heart cramps. More than any other child growing up in the Order, Julio idolized Nero to the point where other children rolled their eyes at him. The boy wanted to join the Holy Knights when he grew up and often paraded with a toy sword. He insisted on keeping his hair long like Nero and wished for a similar jacket as his for his birthday. In turn, Nero doted on the boy and never let him feel ashamed for his admiration. They spend much time together pretend-sparring and playing baseball. When Julio came to him with books, Nero read them to the boy despite his less than mild interest in literature.

“You’re not going to die, right Nero? I don’t want you to die.”

Nero strokes the back of the boy’s head.

“No, Julio. I’m not. I’ll always be here for you.”

Wide-eyed, Kyrie checks the gasp that threatens to leave her throat. A revelation travels along her spine like a bolt of lightning, coalescing years of affection into one coherent thought.

_I want to marry him._

_Four months ago_

After the concert, she accepts his pendant like it’s an engagement ring. She was his, she was his, she was - taken from him.

Enclosed inside the Savior, she has no doubt he’ll come for her, that he’ll get them both out. She has his heart and he has hers. The weight of the pendant in the mound of her clavicle grounds her, like a promise.

_One month ago_

Kyrie carefully closes the door to the kitchen behind her and leans her elbows against the counter to her right. She hangs her head, taking a few moments to gather her wits. The collar of her dress is still damp from comforting a little boy, crying after his lost parents.

So many children have lost everything.

Despite her world being turned upside down and her life fallen into pieces, she is without anger or despair. The congregation that raised her crumbled under the weight of its own atrocities but the worldview she was taught to believe in was still intact. Evil forces lurk in the darkness but goodness would prevail. She, Nero, and a few other survivors of the Order have taken the responsibility to find and care for all orphaned children in Fortuna.

Kyrie smiles at the thought of Nero. _Angels exist, and they live among humans to protect us_.

Since they buried Credo, Kyrie’s been numb in a way that only Nero could break through. Although feeling lost, she’s anchored by being with him.

She peeks inside a box to her left and finds a package of oatmeals. It will have to do. She needs to eat, but the more nutritious food must go to the children.

Grasping the handle of a saucepan, she stiffens when the door opens. Her shoulders relax at the sight of Nero stepping in, his sword on his back and a sack in hand.

“Hey, how are you?”

Her heart melts at the softness to his voice. Since she told him she wanted to be with him, he’s treated her with such tenderness, as if he couldn’t believe she was his.

She responds to his greeting with a kiss to his cheek. He blushes.

“I found something,” he says with a glint to his eyes and reaches forwards with the sack in the hand he’s been hiding behind his back.

Her eyes widen at the sight of a doll inside, laying beside a football, a carton of crayons, paper, a deck of cards and several toy cars.

“Oh, Nero!”

She flings herself into his arms, overjoyed. Since the catastrophe of the crumbling Order, the attack of the demons and the death of her brother, the situation in Fortuna resembled a war zone. Nero kept the remaining demons in check and deliveries of food and necessities could enter the island (albeit sparse). They were able to keep the orphans fed and warm but children need more to be happy; they need to play. These toys would help them feel like life could return again.

Nero chuckles and returns the embrace. In a rush of intense affection, she presses her lips against his. She leans back to look him in the eyes with a laugh before she returns to his mouth.

Without her knowing why, none of them breaks the kiss. They slowly melt into each other in a way they haven't before, replacing the cheerfulness into a calm sensation of urgency. Nero’s hands, firm and warm, press her against him at the small of her back. His lips - play with hers; there is no other way to describe the way his mouth prods and explores, repeating a tender pattern that sends a warm current down her arms. When he angles his head to let the tip of his tongue meet hers, hand lifted to cup the back of her head, a lustful shiver runs down her spine. Her nipples contract and harden in the cups of her bra and her toes curl against the soles of her shoes. She gasps at the intensity of the sensation.

He releases her, face flushed and eyes glossed.

“I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s -” she stutters in response to his embarrassed outburst but he grabs the sack and scurries out of the door.

“I’ll see you later, ok?”

She blinks at the hastened closed door and grazes her swollen lips with her fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, Kyrie and Credo weren’t orphans when they first met Nero. Neither was Nero injured after an incident where he buried a dog. He got it from protecting Kyrie from an attack of demons while she was out with a group of orphans in the Mitis forest.
> 
> Kyrie is portrayed as quite passive in canon, but I'd like to think she did things to make Nero fall in love with her - things that made him feel prized, and that he did things to make her feel the same. That was the love story I wanted to write. 
> 
> The song Kyrie sings is a slightly remade version of the catholic Locus iste.


	3. Chapter 3

_Present time_

Nero peels from the bed and approaches her, gaze simultaneously soft and intense. The pale light from the window casts shadows on his biceps, his chest, the muscles of his abdomen. It makes her mouth run dry. She’ struck again by how tall he’s grown. She was always a beanstalk, for long at least half a head taller than him. These days, he towers over her enough that she needs to tilt her chin to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, of course, I want to. It’s just - I didn’t think it’d be something you’d want to do before we got married.”

A tender laugh bubbles in her stomach. _Oh Nero, you idiot_.

“Do you want us to get married?”

His eyes widen before he takes a step forwards and kisses her on the forehead, hands enclosing her head.

“Saviour, Kyrie. Of course, I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to marry you since I was six years old. I haven’t asked yet because I’ve planned a special night to propose. Properly, on one knee.”

Her hands placed on his waist, she laughs.

“You can still do a proper proposal. It won’t be any less special just because you already know my answer.”

His eyes glow.

“You mean..?”

She nods, grinning.

“I do.”

He kisses her with a soft sound erupting from his throat. Pressing her close, he whispers against her hair.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me. You’re my everything. I love you so much.”

“And I love you.” Warm tears of joy quiver her eyesight. She seeks his lips with hers again. Breaking the kiss, she lifts her hand to caress his cheek.

“We should both be sure before we sleep together. I’m still glad I came.” She half-turns to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow -”

“Stay.”

She freezes and turns back to face him. His ardent gaze has the skin on her arms break out in goosebumps. She imprints the sight of him to her memory; the way his chest heaves with his breath, the gleam of his lips, the way he roams her body with softness and want. A frisson of lust travels down her thighs; this is a new situation for both of them.

In a sweeping motion, she pulls her nightdress over her head. She’s wearing nothing but a pair of briefs underneath.

He sharply draws in a breath.

“Holy light, you’re beautiful.”

He reaches for her and pulls her close, catching her lips with his. A feeling of want spreads like a slow fire in her veins. Relishing in the sensation of his bare torso against her, she lifts her arms to wrap them around her neck. Like in the kitchen of the old Order quarters a month ago, she opens up to accept the gentle prodding of his lips, alternating between letting the tips of their tongue meet and seizing his lower lip with hers. His salty taste, his warm smell, the skin on his chest pressing against her; it makes her feel like she’s tipsy. She lets her hands sink in a caress down his arms, his back, lower to follow the curve of his behind over his underwear. Something hard press against her stomach.

He groans into her mouth and releases her lips. His eyes glint in a smile.

“Can I do something cheesy?”

She raises her eyebrows. He hooks his arm under her knees and lifts her, bridal-style, to the bed. She titters, arms around his neck. The way he carries her as if she weighed nothing has her blushing.

He lowers her carefully onto the bed. The mattress welcomes her, warm and smelling so familiar of him. A new, powerful thrill washes through her as he lowers himself on top of her to kiss her again. The hardness press against her hip. Curiosity fills her; she lets the back of her fingers graze his side until she reaches the juncture between his hip and his thigh.

He grabs her hand with a strangled sound.

“If you do that, this is going to be over real fast.”

He smiles with a blush that covers his face to his ears. She’s aware of her own rosiness, creeping from her chest up to her neck and over her cheeks. The weight of him on top of her has a warm current swirling in her lower abdomen.

She’s not sure how to act. She follows her desire and pulls his hand up to her mouth. Opening his palm, she traces a line with her lips up against his every finger, starting with the index. He groans; the sound sends a bolt of heat through her.

When she reaches for his demon hand, he hesitates. She meets his gaze, eyes open wide in a question. _Do you trust me?_

He lets her kiss his black palm, holding each of his scaled fingers in her hands. She caresses the length of his demon arm, mesmerized by the way it pulses in a pattern of blue light. Nero’s expression tells her he’s still hesitant.

She pulls his demon hand to cover her left breast.

He groans her name and reaches forward to kiss her again. Responding, she concentrates on the sensation of his palm against her breast. He carefully kneads the soft mound. The movement doesn’t entice any new feelings in her; it’s warm and nice and a bit awkward - until the tips of his fingers outline her nipple. She gasps. A zing of something hot rushes down to that place between her legs that has swelled and softened since he lifted her to the bed. Reflexively, she lifts her hips to press that place against his thigh. He moans in response.

She’s starting to understand why the Order clamped down on sexual acts between unmarried members. The sensations that are building in her are so strong, like the beginning of a tidal wave. She’s unsure of what she wants but the want is strong like being pulled into a vortex or careening down a waterfall. She cranes her neck to give access when he tilts her head to kiss her neck, his human hand lifted to her other breast. When he reaches down with his lips, she arches her back and twines her fingers into his hair.

“Kyrie, can I..?”

“Yes.”

When his lips enclose her right nipple, she gasps and pulls lightly in his hair. He groans in response.

Noshing her breast, he nibbles and licks at her nipple, giving the other the same attention. She’s panting, thoughtlessly writhing her hips. This is what the Order warned the girls of, this abandonment in want. She moans as the hot swirl between her legs transforms into a curious throbbing.

_It’s like I have a tiny heart between my legs._

She wants him, wants him inside her. She wants to breach waters she’s never trodden. All their lives, she and Nero have acted with such care towards each other; these new acts push her to want something else, something more. She’s never been close to doing anything like intercourse yet at this moment she’s fully aware of how it’s done. His hardness, if she angles her hips, opens her thighs wider -

“Kyrie?”

His voice has dropped a note and gained a certain thickness.

“Yes?” She exhales.

“Can I touch you - down there?”

A nervous flash runs through her chest. It’s all she wants, yet -

She nods, swallowing.

He rises to kiss her, stroking her hair.

“I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

She meets honesty in his gaze. Nero - her friend, her lover. The boy with the bluest eyes she’s seen. He is a beautiful mix of strength and need, of hardness, resolve and tenderness.

She nods again.

He kisses her again before he hooks his fingers into the lining of her briefs and slowly pulls them down. She lifts her hips to help, her pulse soaring in her ears, and carefully opens her thighs.

Oh God, she can smell her own arousal. Does he mind? Does he -

Her train of thought comes to an abrupt halt when he carefully slides his finger along her slit. The sensation is slightly ticklish but exiting, pulling her mind towards that dark place of want again.

“Do you feel ok?” he whispers. His Adam’s apple bob.

“Yes.”

Her own voice has gained that thickness she recognized in his. He continues to stroke his fingers up and down her nether lips, pausing momentarily at her opening. A warm sensation replaces the brightness, less intense but still nice. Is it supposed to tickle like this? Redirecting her mind to the way her breath comes out laboured, she tries to relax.

He eases his finger inside.

She gasps and tenses her muscles. He stills his finger, groaning.

“Saviour, you feel so good. This is - are you ok?”

“Yes.”

She relaxes her muscles, letting him continue the push of his finger inside her.

Oh. _Oh._

The intrusion feels _so much_, how is he supposed to fit there with his - she caught a glimpse of his member (the only word Kyrie has learned from her days with the order), or the outline of it, before he carried her to the bed. His size frightened her as much as it sent a tingle down her arms.

Her thoughts die when he slowly pumps his finger in and out while grazing the skin on her neck with his lips.

When he releases his finger from her heat and lifts it to that spot, that spot! The secret place she has tentatively touched while alone in her bed, thinking of him, she arches her back in response. She’s never let her own explorations go far as years of shaming such acts by the members of the Order stopped her.

The feeling of Nero skimming that spot with his finger while taking her nipple in her mouth has flashes of want travelling all the way out to her fingertips. How can he know her body better than she does? She whimpers and lifts her hips to press the spot against his hand. The vortex is back, her heart thuds in her chest and the heat in her abdomen coils in a way that has her grasping his hair in desperation.

When she says his name, it comes out high-pitched and louder than she intended.

“I - I need you. _Please_.”

“Are you sure you want me to stop? I can -”

She replies by letting her hand sink to palm his erection.

He groans and lifts his hip to help her pull his underwear down. He grabs them when she can’t reach further than to his knees and pulls them from his legs.

She reaches for him when he climbs back between her legs. The muscles on his back tenses underneath her hands.

He takes one of her hands and directs it to his shaft. Fascinated, she encloses it in her hand, relishing in the silky texture and rubbing a pearl of liquid from the head into the warm skin. An impulse has her wondering what it would be like to taste him. The thought has her mind staggering; the Order forbade such acts vehemently, even between married couples.

Another lesson she was willing to unlearn. What did the shaming of these acts amount to but control and pain? This was joy, and lust, and beauty.

Nero meets her gaze. His eyes radiate such naked want it stops the air short in her lungs. Her heart skips a beat when he angles her hips and sinks to merge their bodies together.

He places a hand on hers, still holding him, to signal he wants her to keep it there.

“Guide me.”

Heart beating wildly, she nods and directs the tip of him against her opening. Placing his arms to her sides, he presses in.

Gasping, she slaps her hands onto his back. The pain ripples up her spine, making her whimper through gritted teeth. He stops and caresses a strand of her hair from her damp forehead.

“Are you ok?”

A pitiful whine escapes her, but she nods. She wants this. The first time is supposed to be painful, the older sisters at the Order whispered among themselves, but after that, it gets better.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shakes her head.

He draws circles on the outside of her thigh with a patient tenderness to his gaze.

“Try to relax, baby,” he whispers.

The tinge of want returns at his gentle command. Kyrie secretly loves it when he calls her baby. She slowly lets go of the tension in her muscles and opens her legs wider.

He presses into her further, his arms by her sides trembling. The press of him inside doesn’t hurt as much as it did initially but she still exhales a pained whimper when he bottoms out.

They rest for a few heartbeats, breathing in sync.

The sensation that most acutely occupies her mind is that of being filled. He stretches her in a way she didn’t know was possible. The next sensation is that of his body against hers, enframing her, weighing her down but not in a way that’s unpleasant. It’s Nero being this close to her, as close as anyone can be, and it feels - right.

The burn has abated to a warm pressure. She tentatively moves her hips from side to side to get used to the sensation.

He moans against her neck. It sends a lustful frisson down her body.

“Nero,” she whispers, “move.”

The mere tensing of his haunches to pull back makes her inhale sharply. When he pushes back in, the slide of his hardness against her front wall has her lifting her hips to meet him in another thrust. The pain wanes with each movement, each second she allows herself to melt into the mattress. There’s a spot inside her that throbs and he keeps brushing it… The sound that escapes her throat - was it hers, thick and full of want?

_Oh, Maker - oh, God._

“You feel so perfect,” Nero groans, “so good. I can’t believe this is happening. This is everything -”

They meet again and again in perfect rhythm, foreheads pressed against each other and lips meeting in sloppy kisses through laboured breaths. Something builds in her every time he slides against that spot inside her, every time his lower abdomen presses against the spot at the peak of her sex. The situation has her mind reeling, the sensation of his muscles contracting and relaxing under her hands, the way her thighs start to tremble. She wishes for him to push faster, more…

She doesn’t fear the dark place of want in her, not with him. He’s always protected her from danger. There can be no sin to what they do, not when her whole being loves him the way she does. Love-making, they called it, and it was true. At this moment, they share lust and affection and want in a human combination.

He’s always been her home.

She begs him to go faster. She needs to chase that coiling, heated sensation low in her belly, the sensation that threatens to have her unravelling at the seams.

He catches her hand with his demon hand and intertwines their fingers before he sets a harsher pace. The bed frame creaks in a lewd way that adds to her arousal. The steady rhythm of his hips, his panting breaths and moans, it pushes her higher and higher. She lets out a drawn-out cry that bounces against the walls of the bedroom. How can anything feel so good? She didn’t know her body could experience sensations so strong and so intense. She’s approaching something she can’t name…

Without warning, his hips stutter and his body tenses into steel, shaking under her hands. He cries out against her neck, a muffled roar. A warmth pulsates inside her. His heart beats wildly against hers and he weighs her down, falling onto her.

Panting, Kyrie comes down from that crevice, surprised at what just happened but warm and lax in a way she hasn’t experienced in years. She caresses the damp skin on Nero’s back, enjoying the way his chest heaves against hers and the way they’re still merged. A tinge of disappointment flicker at the back of her mind but she pushes it away in favour of a deep feeling of contentment. The scent of their combined bodies, the way he lifts himself onto his arms and kisses her on the forehead, the cheeks, the lips; it’s lustful in a calm way that has her feeling drowsy.

A slow excitement builds in her chest from how close she was to something that felt like it could shatter her, but in a good way… If they could come together this well on their first try, there was no telling how much pleasure they could give each other as they continued to explore this newfound togetherness.

“That was amazing,” Nero whispers between kisses, “I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

She hushes him.

“It _was_ amazing.” She lets out a peal of laughter that he mirrors. “I can’t wait to do this for the rest of our lives.”

He lets out a sound resembling a sob at that, burying his face into the crook of her next.

“The rest of our lives. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.” He caresses her cheek with the back of his fingers. “This is like a dream. You’re my dream.”

After another kiss, he pulls from her. They gasp in sync. She wiggles her hips at a moist sensation under her rear. Was that her blood sticking to her thighs? Shifting, she peeks down at where they met on the mattress. It isn’t blood, only the smudge of their combined fluids. She blushes.

He stands to grab a towel hanging from a chair and returns to carefully dab at the insides of her thighs. The act has her moved beyond words. He pulls crisp sheets from his cupboard; she raises to let him change the bed. When he’s done, he sinks back onto the mattress and opens his arms. She melts into him, face against his neck. He kisses her forehead.

“Kyrie?”

“Yes?”

“What if we made a baby just now?”

She opens her eyes wide. The idea of having a child with him awakens a bright spark of affection in her chest.

_A child… With ashen hair and hazel eyes._

“If we made a baby tonight, then that’s what God wants. If not… We can try to plan better. Perhaps buy some protection?”

She lifts an inquisitive gaze to his.

He nods, smiling.

“I’m so happy,” he whispers against her temple.

She lifts an arm around his neck, slow currents of sleep clouding her eyes.

“Nero?”

“Mm?”

“Tomorrow, let’s combine our beds and make this _our _room.”

He pulls her closer.

“I have a better idea. Let’s buy a new, king-sized bed. New life, new bed.”

She smiles against his clavicle.

“That sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love these two beans and I loved writing this fic. I hope you enjoyed it too <3


End file.
